


there's no mistletoe above our heads (but i'll kiss you anyway)

by rosepetal05



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Awkward, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Kissing, Mistletoe, One Shot, date, emma is sneaky, god they're awkward, i know that it's march but uh... shhh, paul is a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetal05/pseuds/rosepetal05
Summary: Emma invites Paul over for the holidays. Paul is confounded by the abundance of a certain festive plant...
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	there's no mistletoe above our heads (but i'll kiss you anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! I know it's march and absolutely not Christmas but this has been floating around for a few months and i finally finished it so you get it now.
> 
> This was 100% based on this tumblr post (https://thecrabbybarista.tumblr.com/post/638346600543092736/something-i-had-to-share) made by @thecrabbybarista (idk how to link things sorry)
> 
> Title is from two queens in a king sized bed by girl in red which definitely does not relate at all but i liked the lyric :)
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Snowflakes danced through the frosty air before coming to rest on barren tree branches, coating the streets with a light dusting of white. The usually boring crowd of people that filled the town at 5pm were now sweater-wearing and glove-clad, their eyes lit with excitement and the reflection of strings of lights hung up in store windows. Young children ran through the street, their rapid chatter backed by the gentle notes of festive songs. Couples held hands and watched on with love in their eyes, leaning into each other for warmth as they leisurely strolled. It was Christmastime in Hatchetfield. 

Paul Matthews was not a fan of Christmastime in Hatchetfield. There was something about the intense  _ happiness  _ of it all that made him uncomfortable. The repetition of the same 10 shitty Christmas songs and the loud, aggressive advertisements for creepy toys did not entertain him as much as it did others. He pulled his suit jacket tighter around him as he hurried along, silently cursing himself for forgetting some sort of winter clothing to keep him warm.  _ Coffee,  _ he could use some coffee to warm him up. 

He stopped at the window of Beanies. It had been a while since he had been to the small coffee shop, and he started at the newly decorated storefront. Red and green tinsel lined the top of the window, and similarly coloured bauble stickers adorned the window. A sticker-santa smiled gleefully from the window, a speech bubble coming out of his mouth with text that Paul presumed was supposed to read  _ Ho Ho Ho,  _ a reminder that it was Christmas for all the patrons inside _.  _ From the outside, however, Santa was cheerfully exclaiming  _ oH oH oH _ , a slightly less festive and more ominous message. Paul chuckled slightly at it as he pushed open the door.

The shop was mildly busy, which was busier than Beanies was usually able to boast. A few people sat at tables on varying devices, and a few awkward first dates seemed to be occurring. He walked up to the counter, which fortunately lacked a line, and smiled at the barista. Emma, he had finally discovered after a painfully long conversation a few weeks ago. And technically, she asked him his name first. She was also the one to ask him out on a date last week.

He had picked her up from Beanies and driven them to a bar in downtown Hatchetfield. They sat on barstools, legs swinging as they sipped from beer bottles. Their conversation had gotten off to a slow start, but a few topics (and a few drinks) later, they had been laughing and bonding over complaining about their coworkers. After a generous tip for the bartender left by Paul, which resulted in a sly comment from Emma about his flirting techniques, he had driven her back to her apartment and walked her to her doorstep. He had desperately wanted to kiss her, but settled with a slightly awkward hug before he drove off. 

And now he was here. They hadn’t really talked after their date, sending a few gifs back and forth in their text chain, nothing more. He walked up to the counter, where Emma was leaning over and occasionally quickly glancing down, presumably at her phone. 

“Hi,” he said simply.

“Hey!” her face broke into a grin, “the usual?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded, placing a few dollars in the painfully barren tip jar. She turned, grabbing a cup from behind the counter. Paul threw a quick glance at her ass in her work shorts, looking away quickly after he remembered that staring at his barista’s butt in her place of work was extremely inappropriate and very creepy. Emma didn’t seem to notice as she grabbed a pot of coffee.

“So, got any holiday plans?” she asked as the steaming coffee was poured into the cup. 

“Oh, no,” he leaned forward on the counter, “I’m not the biggest fan of Christmas. The forced festive atmosphere, the capitalism, and the constant singing aren’t really for me,”

“No family reunions?” she asked as she popped the lid onto his coffee.

“No, they all moved away a while ago,” he explained, “I haven’t talked to them in a while,”

Emma raised her eyebrows, eyes darting down quickly, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s no big deal,” he backtracked quickly, “I don’t really like them anyway,”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line, as if she were holding in a laugh. She shook her head, looking down at the counter where she was bracing her hand. She let out a deep breath, picking up the cup and holding it out to him.

“Would you maybe like to come hang out with me on Christmas?” she said quickly. Paul took a step back.

“What?”

“I just thought- Christmas is kind of depressing for me too. I mean, all of my family is dead or estranged,” she said earnestly, shocking Paul even more. “and since you’re not doing anything and I’m not doing anything, I figured maybe we could hang out? It doesn’t have to be a big deal, just two people hanging out on a normal day!” she squinted her eyes, studying his face intently. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have ask-”

“Yes.”

Emma stopped her rambling, her hand holding Paul’s coffee still hovering in midair.

“Really?”

“Really,” he smiled, taking his coffee from her outstretched hand, “It’ll be fun! And it’s not like i have anything better to do anyway,” he said, trying to play it cool whilst he, for once, was not the flustered one. It didn’t work. 

“Wow, I’m flattered,” Emma raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I- I didn’t mean it like that!” Paul protested, desperately trying to backtrack. “It- It just came out and-”

“Paul,” her clear voice stopped him, “I’m kidding,” she walked over to the pastry display, grabbing something from it and placing it in a white paper bag.

“Here,” she said, handing it to him, “See you soon!” and with that she sent him on his way. He stood outside for a solid 5 minutes, tightly gripping his coffee and paper bag, not even feeling the bitter cold as he tried to process what had just happened. 

***

Ice grinded against rubber as Paul stopped his car. He reached around and turned the engine off, quickly mourning the loss of the heating. His mind was racing as he sat in the cold, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He was so confused. What was this? The logical part of his brain was telling him that this was just two people meeting up on a normal day. There was nothing special about it. But some annoying, rebellious part of him had his heart racing. Emma had invited him over, on  _ Christmas  _ no less. That had to mean something! 

_ No,  _ he told himself as he got out of the car, grabbing a bottle from the passenger seat,  _ this didn’t mean anything.  _ He desperately tried to distract himself from his racing thoughts. He focused on the crunch of the snow under his boots as he walked up the stairs to her apartment, and the electronic beeps of the keypad he typed her apartment number into. He heard her voice crackle through the speaker, and barely registered his own mumbled response before he pushed the door open. He walked down the hallway and then entered the elevator, pressing the button gingerly, and then he was on her floor, and then he was in front of a door.

Paul pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping on Emma’s name in his texts. He read over the text she had sent with her address, eyes finding her apartment number. 405. Though he had just pressed those same buttons on the keypad outside, he had to make sure. His chest tightened as his fingers ghosted over the plastic doorbell. What if he had gotten the number wrong? What if when he opened the door it was some old man whose evening he will have interrupted? What if Emma didn’t really want him over, and gave him the wrong address. He glanced back down to his phone, triple checking the address. It seemed as though he was in the right place. He smiled down at the small circle next to the text bubble. When they had exchanged numbers, Emma had insisted on taking her own profile picture on his phone. She was in her Beanies uniform, her hair slightly out of place after a long shift. She was throwing a quick wink into the camera, her mouth quirked into a small smile that disguised any exhaustion that she may have been feeling. Paul took a deep breath, feeling his heart slow slightly. He had to do this. 

He rang the bell. 

“Coming!” he heard Emma yell from within the apartment. 

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, shifting from foot to foot as he looked around, waiting for her to arrive. His brow furrowed as a flash of green in the doorway caught his eye. A small bundle of leaves was wrapped like a bouquet by a silky red ribbon, dotted through with snow-white orbs. Mistletoe, Paul’s dumbstruck mind helpfully supplied. And whilst his knowledge of botany was extremely limited, he knew that there was a certain…  _ action  _ that was traditionally performed under mistletoe. This sighting was the starting gun that prompted his brain to begin racing again. 

Was it just a festive decoration? Maybe Emma didn’t even know the meaning behind the mistletoe she had hung up. How long had it been there? Did she kiss everyone that came to her door? Her neighbours? Her friends? 

He heard footsteps approaching the door and quickly stepped to the side, out of the spotlight that the mistletoe seemed to be shining on him. The door opened a sliver to reveal Emma’s head poking through the crack. She smiled when she saw it was him, opening the door fully. Her eyes flicked upwards for a second, then back at him, her brow furrowed. Her grin broke slightly, immediately widening again as if in compensation for her break in composure.

“Come in!’ she said brightly, something Paul didn’t exactly understand lying in her tone. He tentatively stepped into the apartment, toeing off his shoes at the door. The two of them stood in the narrow hallway, Paul averting eyes as he tapped his foot quickly on the floor. He spied two more bundles of greenery hanging from his roof. Why was there so much mistletoe in this apartment? He began to mentally map a route he could take without finding himself under the offending plant. 

“You really didn't need to bring anything,” Emma gestured down to his hands.

“Oh!” Paul quickly thrust the bottle of wine he had picked up yesterday towards her. “Yeah, I brought wine,” he stated, wincing as soon as his mind caught up with his mouth. Emma graciously took the bottle, flashing him a quick smile and tilting her head to indicate for Paul to follow her. 

The comforting smell of cinnamon floated by as Paul entered the small apartment. Not the sharp, overwhelming stench that filled his childhood house along with shrieking every Christmas as his mother desperately tried to impress the neighbourhood mothers with her gingerbread. This was what Paul imagined Christmas should be. Warm and homely. Much like the rest of Emma’s apartment. To his right was a worn leather couch, adorned with a cozy-looking rich green throw over it’s back. A few mismatching pillows were laid on it’s seat, Paul particularly noting the one in the shape of a hand making a gesture that was less than polite. Strings of glowing fairy lights made a frame around nothing on the wall, the border occasionally punctuated with pictures held up by wooden pegs. Paul began to walk towards them, with the intention of giving them a closer look. 

He was distracted from his observations by the clinking of cutlery behind him. Emma was laying out two plates on the small breakfast table. Paul noticed yet  _ another  _ bundle of mistletoe hanging up above the table. He slowly took in the apartment again, this time looking for something specific. There did seem to be a lot of festive greenery in this apartment. 

“So,” he started, leaning against the back of the couch to face Emma, “you like plants?”

“Well, I am studying Botany,” she laughed as she set out two wine glasses, “Why do you ask?”

“I-” Paul felt the heat rushing to his face as he desperately tried to form a normal sentence, “I noticed you have a lot hanging up here?”

Emma’s eyes lit up with something other than the light of the small brown candle on the table. 

“Really?” she asked, “I have no idea how those got there!”

She threw a quick wink over her shoulder before walking into the kitchen and grabbing a pot. 

Paul froze, his heart beating so hard he could feel it through his whole body. He forced his feet to move and sit down at the table. He grabbed the bottle of wine and began to pour it into the glasses to give his hands something to do. Emma returned to the table with a red pot.

“I made pasta,” she told him, disappearing behind a cloud of steam as she opened the lid, “I hope that’s okay,”

“Yes!’ Paul agreed immediately, “That’s great! Yeah, pasta’s… pasta’s good,”

Emma bit her lip whilst Paul began to question all of his life choices. She sat after dishing out the pasta onto each plate. 

“Wow, look at that,” Emma pointed up to the bundle of mistletoe above them, “how weird!”

Paul cleared his throat. He managed to force out a mumbled response, almost sweating under the pressure of the plant. He took a big gulp of wine as he tried to avoid the conversation. Emma watched him impatiently, fingers tapping on the table. Even when she was staring him down like this, Paul thought she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Her brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun, with a few stray strands framing her face. A massive green sweater which was about twice her side hung off of her body, dangling down over a pair of tight black leggings that showed off her calf muscles. She sat with her back straight and shoulders thrown back, Paul noticed, making him aware of his own poor posture and sit up in his own chair, back to the seat-back. 

He put a forkful of pasta into his mouth, slightly shocked at how good it tasted. He didn’t pin her for a cooking type. More like an ‘oh no i accidentally burned down the entire kitchen’ type. But she seemed to be an avid cook, judging by her kitchen, which was tiny but crammed with different appliances that Paul had no idea how to use. 

“So,” she asked him, eyebrows raised, “What’re you going to do about it?”

Pasta flew from Paul’s mouth as he started choking, eyes wide. The world got a little fuzzy as his eyes started watering, and he started hacking and wheezing in an attempt to get air back into his lungs. He could see Emma frantically stand up and sit down again, looking at him wildly. She reached over to push his wine glass into his hand, which he gratefully grabbed and took a large sip from. Eventually he was able to breathe again, though his face was still red and his eyes were still watery.

“You ok?” 

Paul nodded demurely, feeling his ears go hot.

“The pasta’s really good,” 

Emma chuckled slightly at that, taking her own bite. Her eyebrows raised.

“Damn right it is!”

The rest of the dinner went relatively smoothly. Neither of the two acknowledged the mistletoe hanging between them, quickly looking down at some particularly interesting part of the table when their eyes got drawn to it. Polite conversation was made, wine was drunk, and then slightly more interesting conversation was made. Once they were done, Emma invited Paul to the couch to watch a movie.

“On what?” he asked, “you don’t have a TV,” he commented helpfully, gesturing to the blank space on the wall. 

“Do we really need one?” she grinned, a twinkle in her eye as she pulled out one of the drawers on the small coffee table. From it she produced a small plastic box, which she placed onto the tabletop. Paul watched in confusion as she tapped on her phone a few times before placing it in the box. 

“Hey, can you get the lights?” 

Paul obediently made his way over to a light switch on the wall, switching it off with a soft click. His eyes widened. In the dark, Emma’s apartment looked almost magical. The candles that were littered throughout the room provided a soft glow, allowing Paul to just make out Emma’s face. The string of fairy lights, which had been surrounding nothing, now framed a rectangle of soft light.

“It’s a projector?” Paul breathed.

Emma nodded, pulling him back onto the couch and wrapping the green throw blanket around them as the movie started. 

  
  
  


Two people projected on the wall were staring each other down, faces inches away as they breathed heavily. Emma groaned.

“Ugh, the  _ sexual tension, _ ” she complained, “I hate when there’s  _ this much  _ tension between two characters, but the producers decide to ignore it and pair them off with some white bread personality partner,” she propped herself onto her elbows, bringer herself to his eye level. Paul hummed in agreement, though he wasn’t really focusing on what was going on in the movie. Emma had slowly moved closer and closer to him throughout the movie, until she was buried into his side, head resting on his chest. Paul was sure she could feel every quick breath he took in an attempt to slow his heart rate throughout the movie, but she hadn’t said anything. Her eyes squinted slightly as she looked up at him, her mouth set in a determined line. 

“You know if I was ever in that situation,” she added, shifting on the couch slightly, “I’d just invite the other person over for dinner on Christmas,”

Paul felt his chest tighten, his eyes widening as he took in a short breath. 

“Then I’d probably get them on my couch to watch a movie,” Emma continued, moving closer to him, “and see what happened,” her eyes flickered upwards to the space between them. Paul followed her gaze to see her holding a small bundle of mistletoe above their heads. Heat rushed to his face, which he rationalised was from all the wine he had consumed. Emma flashed him a smirk, mischief sparkling in her eyes. His eyes flicked around the room, looking for an escape. Nothing. Paul took a deep breath, fingers repeatedly drawing small strokes on his own palms. 

He reached up and took her hand in his, pushing her arm downwards and letting it drop onto the couch next to them. Emma’s grin was erased from her face, eyes blinking rapidly as she began to push herself backwards, away from him. She swallowed hard.

“I-” she stammered, “I’m sorry,” She continued to back away from him, almost scrambling in her attempt to put space between them. Paul reached out and grabbed her wrist again, gently. 

“No,” he said softly. Emma looked up at him with intense fear and worry filling her eyes, and Paul’s breath caught in his throat as he felt his heart tighten. Though small in stature, Emma always managed to take up a lot of room. Filled with constant movement and noise. Never afraid to get up into people’s faces. But now, seeing her shrunken back into her couch, feeling her hand trembling slightly in his, she was smaller and more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. He looked back at her intently.

“I want you to kiss me,” he told her, his voice low, “God, I  _ really  _ want you to kiss me. But not because some stupid plant told you to. I want you to kiss me because you want to kiss me,”

Emma stared at him blankly. Paul began to panic. He had said the wrong thing, hadn’t he? He had never been the smoothest person. Always messing up peaceful, meaningful moments. Or romantic moments. Many potential dates had been politely rejected after he had blurted out the wrong thing, or tripped over his own lanky limbs. His awkwardness, a curse that had been placed on him since childhood, was always there, but seemed to come out in full force at the worst possible moments. Like this one. Now all his cards were on the table, face up. No, he had basically projected them onto the wall in front of them. In a desperate attempt to save any semblance of respect, he began to ramble.

“I mean, no pressure! I’d like you to, but you don’t have to if you don’t wa-”

Emma pushed herself up on her legs and kissed him. Emma Perkins was kissing Paul Matthews. He gasped slightly as her lips met his, her hand reaching up into his hair and tugging softly. Her lips were slightly chapped, from the cold, Paul supposed, but she was anything but cold right now. Her warmth seemed to flow into him as she deepened the kiss, almost like warm coffee sliding down his throat. His hands moved to hold her waist as he leaned forward to get closer to her. The kiss was different to the other kisses Paul had shared with previous dates and girlfriends. It was gentle and comforting. Like being huddled up under a blanket next to a warm fireplace on a freezing night. She tasted like wine and coffee and vanilla and home. Paul was drawn like a moth to Emma’s bright, warm, fiery flame. He wanted to feel like this forever.

Emma pulled back, shoulders shaking. Paul’s concern quickly turned to confusion as he heard the shuddering laughter that was coming out of her smiling mouth, her forehead resting against him. She grasped his shoulders tightly, and he could feel her breaths bubbling out of her like water in a pot, steadily building. He drew his forehead back, looking into her crinkled eyes.

“What?” he asked as he leant back on his palms. Emma looked back at him, biting her cheek in a weak attempt to stop her laughter. 

“Do you really think that I would have spent an hour hanging up all this fucking mistletoe if I didn’t want to kiss you?” 

Paul buried his head in his hands, feeling his hot cheeks as a weird mix of relief and embarrassment washed over him. 

“I mean, I was literally holding it above our heads!”

Paul opened his mouth to reply, but stopped, realising there was nothing he could say to defend himself. Instead, he ducked his head down to press another kiss to her lips. Emma rolled her eyes, laughing into his mouth as she eagerly followed suit. As she pushed him down onto the couch, crawling on top of him without parting their lips, Paul couldn’t help but thinking that every Christmas to come would be like this one. 

**Author's Note:**

> can u tell i was running out of ways to say mistletoe
> 
> anyway... i know it kind of deviated from the post but i just couldn't help myself!! also this is definitely the longest thing i've ever written!!!
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated <3  
> my tumblr: https://rosepetal05.tumblr.com/


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